“Touchscreen” by Marshall Soulful

“Touchscreen” by Marshall Soulful

Yet another video I typed word for word as a result of boredom. All italic and bold parts are just for a dramatic effect. Enjoy! 🙂

*buzzing sounds*

Introducing the new Apple iPerson, complete with multi-touch.

Doesn’t it feel good to touch? Doesn’t it feel good to touch?

Compatible with your iPod and your iPad.

Doesn’t it feel good to touch? Doesn’t it feel good to touch?

No friends? There’s an app for that! No life? There’s an app for that! You’re a complete loser? There’s an app for that!

Doesn’t it feel good to touch? Doesn’t it feel good to touch? Doesn’t it *makes glitching sounds* feel good to touch?

My world—my world has become so digital, I have forgotten what that feels like. It was difficult to connect when friends formed cliques, now it’s even more difficult to connect now that clicks form friends.

But who am I to judge? I face Facebook more than books face me, hoping to book face to faces. I update my status four hundred and twenty spaces to prove I am still breathing. Failure to do this daily means my whole web-wide world will forget that I exist. But with three thousand friends online and only five I can count in real life, why wouldn’t I spend more time in the world where there are more people that *clicks tongue* like me? Wouldn’t you?

Here, it doesn’t matter if I’m an amateur person as long as I have a profile. My smile is fifty percent genuine, fifty percent genuine HD—you would need Blu-Ray to read what is really me. But I’m not that focused. Ten tabs open, hoping my problems are resolved with a fifteen hundred by sixteen hundred resolution, proving we might’ve missed a step in this evolution.

Doubled over, we used to sit in treetops, ’til we swing down to stand upright. Then someone slipped a disc—now we’re doubled over at desktops. From the garden of Eden to the branches of Macintosh, apple-picking has always come at a great cost.

iPod, iMac, iPhone, iChat—I can do all of these things without making eye contact. We used to sprint to pick and store blackberries. Now we run to the Sprint store and pick BlackBerrys.

It’s scary. I can’t hear the sound of Mother Nature speaking over all this tweeting. And our ability to feel along with it is fleeting. We’d think that headphone jacks inject in the flesh the way we connect to disconnect. Powered on, until we are powerless.

We might be love drugged. Like E-pills, so we e-trade, e-mail, e-motion like e-commerce because when now money can buy love for 9.95 a month.

Click to receive the check-out. Click to ex-out where our hearts once were.

*click* I’ve uploaded this hug. I hope she gets it. *click* I’m making love to my wife. I hope she’s logged-in. *click* I’m holding my daughter over a Skype conference call while she’s crying in the crib in the next room. *click*

So my phone goes off of my hip. I touch, and I touch, and I touch, and I touch, and I touch. Because in a world where laughter is never heard and voices are only read, we are so desperate to feel that we hope technology can reverse the universe until the screen touches us back.